


Dressing Down

by ehmazing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Developing Relationship, Edelbert Week (Fire Emblem), F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Post-War, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24346672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehmazing/pseuds/ehmazing
Summary: The Imperial Army marches home from the Battle of Fhirdiad, but stops to celebrate an important milestone along the way.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64
Collections: Edelbert Week 2020





	Dressing Down

**Author's Note:**

> *arrives to Edelbert Week 6 days late with starbucks*
> 
> For the free prompt day! Rated T for ~*~implications~*~ but no explicit content

The Emperor’s twenty-third birthday fell in the first summer after the war.

Though she'd asked for the event to pass unnoticed, word spread through the ranks—“word” being “Ferdinand von Aegir." Soon soldiers were working together to stomp the dirt into a rectangular plot, while the officers gathered all the remaining beer barrels under one tent. When those ran dry, they raided their own stashes to share mead and barley wine with anyone who presented a cup.

It all spiraled out of control long before Hubert could put his foot down. He had just heard gossip of mock-jousts being planned when the generals’ tent was invaded by a band of pipers, drummers, and Ferdinand in a jester’s cap made from sacrificed stockings and horses’ bells.

“My dear Emperor,” he crooned, sweeping into a comically grandiose bow. “We’d be honored to welcome you to your birthday jubilee!”

Edelgard's silent glance at Hubert said, _Goddess help me._

All the same, she took Ferdinand’s offered hand. Cheers echoed throughout the camp as the band paraded her to the dance hall they’d made from only packed dirt, a tent pole fence, and torches lit under the open sky. Hubert couldn’t begrudge their good spirits; they'd been marching south from Fhirdiad for weeks with the summer sun in their eyes and ash still clogging their lungs. Why not give leave to celebrate for a day?

Edelgard seemed to come to the same conclusion. As the sky faded to indigo, he watched the tightness ease from her shoulders. She accepted the toasts to her health with a hearty clink of her own glass. She clapped along to the drinking songs, though she staunchly refused to sing. She even gasped in delighted shock when the infantry revealed they had managed to procure a few pigs to roast.

Then the dances began, and real joy came alight in her eyes. She danced with anyone who asked, be they lord or lancer or linen girl, twirling across the earthen floor in a blur of red. Hubert danced too—dragged out first by Dorothea and Petra, then another just to torment Linhardt, and then another to pull Bernadetta out from where she'd wallflowered herself near the spitroast. He passed Bernadetta to Caspar and Caspar passed Professor Eisner to him, who said, “I’m sorry for what I’m about to put us through, Hubert,” and then proved the legends were true: she had no sense of rhythm. The torches had burned low by the time Edelgard found him again, catching his breath.

“It’s the last of the night,” she insisted. “You’re the only one who hasn’t yet asked me.”

By night her hair looked silver, like a tincture of liquid mercury. Hadn’t they made it once, in Professor Casagranda’s class? Hubert pulled himself back before he could wander too far into thoughts of chemicals and equations. His head felt foggy from the spinning and the hot summer night. The mead, too, had more of an effect than he’d expected; it’d been so long since any of them had more to drink than a half-ration of watered-down beer.

He pretended to sigh as he rose to his feet. “Then, my lady, will you dance?”

She smiled proudly. “I shall.”

What was the song that played? 'The Windmill Reel?' 'Four Lords Leaping?’ He’d stopped listening to everything but the way Edelgard laughed as they spun. He hadn’t heard her laugh like that in years. While the band took their bows, she leaned against his side, one arm looped through his, clapping and cheering with the crowd. They were still linked as he walked her back to the officers’ camp. All the way she recounted the events of the evening with a delighted grin. Hubert thought he may actually owe Ferdinand an apology: it _had_ been right to disobey the Emperor’s orders.

He wasn’t paying attention. He was happy enough to be careless. He let her lead him into her tent, all the way behind the curtain that partitioned her low camp bed into a makeshift chamber. They realized too late that Agnise, her lady-in-waiting, wouldn’t make an appearance, for everyone had been told to celebrate the holiday in full. Edelgard sat down, her dress billowing around her like the petals of a wilted flower, and begged, “Help me out of this, Hubert, or this heat will be the one enemy that finally kills me."

He knelt in front of her. He’d dealt with her boots and greaves before, so gathered her skirts and petticoats to her knees without a second thought. They fell into a peaceful silence as he shed her layers of plate, quilted sleeves, stockings, gloves…

“It's strange to think I still have birthdays to go,” Edelgard said, her hands braced onto his shoulders as he wrestled with the ties of her farthingale. Her outer gown and petticoats pooled in a scarlet puddle around their legs. “I feel I’m already so old.”

“To be fair, Your Majesty, you’ve accomplished more in twenty-three years than most people do in their lifetimes,” he chuckled. “I’m sure plenty of others think merely living two decades is something to be proud of. Or just an excuse to drink.”

“What about you?”

“Did I enjoy the excuse to drink?”

Edelgard laughed. “No, I meant do you already feel old? You were twenty yourself when this all began."

At last he untangled the knot at her waist and helped her farthingale slide over her hips, the rings falling into a neat circle around her bare feet. “I don’t even remember turning twenty.” When she scoffed, he explained, "It was at the Academy, hardly a week before the skirmish in Remire. Compared to everything that followed, it wasn’t a very eventful day.”

“A week before Remire…” she repeated under her breath, frowning to herself. As she thought, she swayed a little, leaning where her hands still rested on his shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed pink, too, Hubert noticed; so he wasn’t the only one made foggy by mead. He made to ask if she felt dizzy, but Edelgard gripped him suddenly, her eyes going wide. “Hubert! You’re not saying we missed your birthday?!”

“Well…I didn’t think it was—”

_“Hubert!”_

“—The least important thing to concern yourself with, considering—”

“Unbelievable!”

“—In a few months I got my inheritance and title in full anyway, after my father—"

“Now I feel terrible! I didn’t even get you a gift!”

He laughed. “If that’s all you’re worried about, my lady, then I forgive you. I didn’t give you anything today in return.”

“Yes you did,” she insisted. “You danced with me.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“To me, it does.” She studied him. It was odd to meet her eyes from such a low angle. Hubert was used to looking down, not up. Though she was now only clad in her shift and stays, she was still wearing her crown. The pearl at her forehead swayed between her eyebrows, a winking third eye. “And for your belated birthday, I’ll give you…I’ll give you…”

 _Nothing,_ he wanted to say. _I need nothing. It was enough to have this one good day in the midst of many terrible ones. It was enough to hear you laugh again._

But the words never came—for when he opened his mouth to speak, Edelgard cupped his face, bent down, and kissed him.

Her lips were rough, chapped from the sun and dry summer air. He was surprised by the warmth of her, how it pooled in her palms that held his cheeks. Her hands, her mouth, even the skin of her waist radiated heat he could feel beneath the stiff fabric of her stays. Her waist—when had his hands moved to hold her? Hubert couldn’t remember reaching up. He made to peel himself away when she broke the kiss herself.

“I’ll give you that,” she said, “until I can think of something better.”

Hubert ordered himself to breathe. Aside from standing straight again, Edelgard hadn’t moved away. Her hands had fallen to cradle his neck. Hours ago he’d discarded his coat, feeling too hot from the dancing, but now each brush of her fingers was more potent than a burn. His chest was tight with panic. What had he done?

“Hubert?”

Edelgard was watching him with concern etched on her brow. He waited for her to demand he get up and apologize, but instead she said,

“I know you find it silly, but I do want to give you something tangible. Not just for missing one birthday, but for, well, many things.” Her pale throat tightened as she swallowed. “So I promise that I will, once we’re back in Enbarr.”

He had to clear his throat before his voice returned.

“Then you must let me do the same,” he said. “Give you something tangible. A dance really doesn’t count.”

Edelgard exhaled, the ghost of a laugh.

“A dance is all I wanted. But if nothing else…” Her thumb moved, feather-light, to brush his lower lip.

This time when she bent down, Hubert tilted his head to meet her. Her fingers pushed further beneath his collar, wove up into his hair. His neck ached to kiss her at this angle, but she gasped into his mouth when their tongues met and he forgot the ache entirely. The warmth of her lips was nothing now compared to her mouth, as she kissed his jaw, his neck, behind his ear.

Hubert was careless in that he no longer cared what happened next—if an attack should come now, if the Church or the Faerghans or the Goddess herself reappeared to smite them, it wouldn’t matter. For Edelgard was kneeling down, tugging him against her, groaning when he ran one hand up the lattice of laces at the center of her chest.

“Your Majesty?”

He jolted back as if struck by lightning.

Muffled by the partitions of the Emperor’s tent, Lady Agnise’s voice came again.

“I’m so sorry, the evening got away from me!” Some of the words bled into the others; Agnise hadn’t limited her drinks, either. “I didn’t know you’d retired, or I would’ve accompanied you to take down your hair. Shall I attend you now?”

Edelgard was still kneeling across from him, breathing heavily. Her shift had slipped to reveal one pale shoulder. She stared back at Hubert, her chest rising and falling, her cracked lips bitten pink. Then slowly, she closed her eyes, steadied her breath.

“No,” she called back in a clear voice. “I’ve managed well enough. You have leave until morning.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Agnise sounded all-too-eager to be dismissed. “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

When enough time had passed that he was sure of Agnise’s departure, Hubert cleared his throat. “It’s late. I should be going as well.”

“If you must.” Edelgard’s expression was blank, but he could see the crack of disappointment beneath it. She paused before adding, “But before you do, I’d like one more favor. In honor of my birthday.”

Hubert nodded. “Anything you ask.”

Sheepishly, Edelgard pointed to the crown on her head. “I let Agnise go, but I really do need help taking it off.”

She ordered him to quit laughing when he sat her down on the camp bed, it wasn’t _that_ funny. If knights weren’t expected to take off their own armor, why should ladies be experts on undoing the master crafts of their maids? When the horns were finally freed, Edelgard held them in her lap as Hubert hunted for any surviving pins.

“Can you believe it?” she said softly, tracing a curved tip with her finger. “The war crown. When we get back to Enbarr, I’ll never have to wear it again.” She turned her head to look at the pile of clothes, forcing Hubert to choose a different angle as he unwound the coils. “No plate, either. No imperial crimson.”

“Yes crimson, but only for Founding Day,” Hubert corrected her. “And state pronouncements. And full Council meetings. And—” He hissed for effect when she reached up to smack his hand. “Careful! Or I’ll make this worse somehow. I have no more idea of how to fix your hair than you do.” When he was sure that everything was free, he attempted to smooth it a little with his hands, combing out the twisted strands between his fingers. “What other color do you want to wear, then?”

“I don’t know. All of them. Emerald. Violet. Ochre.” She laughed to herself. “Something outrageously patterned, just for the novelty.” She turned her head to the side again, this time to look back at Hubert. “You?”

“Black. Obviously.”

“Nothing else?” she pushed. “Even for happy occasions?”

“I’m wearing black now, and this is a happy occasion.”

“You’d never experiment with grey?”

“Very funny, Your Majesty.” With one final brush, he decided her hair was good enough. “There. I must say: Lady Agnise is truly an artist, and I have a newfound respect for her craft.”

He took the crown from Edelgard’s hands and set it inside her traveling chest. When he closed the lid, he glanced up to find Edelgard standing again. Her hair fell in waves over one shoulder. The other was still exposed where her shift had fallen down during their…interaction. At the edge of her neckline, he could just make out the tip of a deep scar that traveled further between her breasts.

“Hubert.” He jumped when he heard his name again. He hurried to stand, but though he knew it was past the point for him to have gone, his feet stuck fast to the ground, unwilling to move. They wanted Edelgard to walk to him, wanted to root him as she stopped and slowly, nervously, put one hand against his chest. “If I asked for one more thing…”

“I think it’s long past midnight by now. You might be stretching the limits of your birthday, my lady.” She caught the smile in his voice and returned it. “But I’ll consider an exception. What would you like?”

He was sure his heart stopped for a moment as Edelgard moved her hand up the line of buttons that closed his doublet, the same way he’d traced the front of her stays. He was certain the flush in his face was no longer the mead’s fault.

“To see you out of black,” she said. Swallowed. “It could be your ‘something tangible.’”

Hubert listened, but all he could discern outside the tent was merriment, the sounds of music, laughter, joy. There was no war meeting awaiting them in the morning. There was no door that needed to be locked. There was nothing between himself and Edelgard but her hand, still warm, so easily covered with his own.

“I still think it’s the same as a dance,” he replied, his voice much drier than he expected. “Doesn’t last. Shouldn’t count.” He brought her hand to his mouth to kiss it. “But we’ve still got time before we reach Enbarr. I promise to think of a proper gift by then.”

“As do I.” Edelgard shivered when he brushed her hair back from her other shoulder. She was already tilting her head, ready to be kissed. The warmth from her smile could rival the sun. “Consider this the initial payment.”

* * *

Hubert searched high and low for it, but he never found his lost coat in the mess the jubilee left behind. He decided it wasn’t worth mourning. When they reached Enbarr, he could have a new one made, maybe several. Maybe something outrageously patterned, just for the novelty.


End file.
